


I'll Never Leave You

by mang0fruitblast



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Obviously Frank wanted to spend Thanksgiving with Karen, Set right after The Punisher ends, Thanksgiving, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mang0fruitblast/pseuds/mang0fruitblast
Summary: “Frank,” she begins as she wipes her eyes and steadies her voice, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I’ve been feeling so alone lately without Matt and Foggy’s so occupied with Marci and work he doesn’t realize all that I’ve been going through. It’s made me feel better—and safe, just knowing you’re out there. I’m glad you sent the flowers. I was afraid—” she breaks off again. “I was afraid that the elevator was going to be the last time I saw you alive.”Hesitantly, she looks into his eyes. In them, she can see a multitude of emotions, some she can read, some that make her shiver.Frank sets down the wine glass and says tenderly, with purpose, his voice low and deep, “Karen, I’ll never leave you.”-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Set right after The Punisher ends // Thanksgiving fluff





	I'll Never Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> So after years of mooching off everyone else with countless fandoms, I'm finally getting my shit together and writing something for once. This is my first fanfiction ever so I'd appreciate any comments about anything!! I intended this to be a one-shot, but if I get an idea for continuing it, I will!
> 
> Shoutout to @throwndownsilvergirl on tumblr for giving me the idea of a Thanksgiving fic
> 
> If you have a desire to look into my garbage can of a blog, I'm @mang0fruitblast :)

It’s after 6 p.m. The meeting with Curtis and the other veterans is over now, and for the first time in a long time, Frank doesn’t have anywhere to go. He doesn’t have anything to do or anyone to see. He contemplates asking Curtis if he can join him and his family for their Thanksgiving meal, but he doesn’t want to barge in. Plus, he’s sure that Curtis is tired of his shit and all the violence that follows Frank wherever he goes.

For a brief moment, he considers Micro and his family, but then shakes his head. The Liebermans just got their father back; they want to spend time with him, not the murdering liar who had left their lives as abruptly as he entered them. Besides, Curtis and Micro, though he admires and is fond of them, are not who he wants to spend his Thanksgiving with.

He thinks about calling her. Karen Page. The woman who entered his life as he began his crusade as the Punisher and persisted in hearing his story in the hospital room. The woman who wasn’t afraid to point a gun at his face. The woman who was compassionate and would readily give her money to the homeless on the streets. The woman he was beginning to feel something real for. A feeling similar to what he felt for Maria but had since evaded him since her death.

But even though his fight is over, Frank is loath to reintroduce Karen in his life. He doesn’t want anyone, not one person, to know what she means to him and to use her to get to him. He would rather have both his eyes gouged out like Rawlins, have his face broken in a thousand places from glass on a carousel like Billy, be stabbed in the neck like Stein than let one hair on Karen’s head be touched by someone trying to reach him.

He thinks back to that night last year when Karen had that hand cannon pointed at his face. The way she held it, like she meant business, almost seemed that she’d used a weapon like that before. However, he didn’t think she’d actually use it, not on him, but he was proud of her for owning it and not being afraid of holding it. It was the first time he began to think of Karen a little differently. And that partly led to what he did next. He heard the faint click of safeties going off, and in that instant, he knew that unless he did something, what happened to his family would happen to Karen in a few seconds. He dove for her, shielded her, protected her. He didn’t know much about this woman, but he knew he had to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

Now, he knows a little better. She’s been trained more. She can take care of herself more. If he’s not involved in her life and if she stops trying to dig up the dirtiest of the dirty of Hell’s Kitchen, what she can do to protect herself will be enough. But he knows better. He knows that there’s no way she’ll stop doing what she’s doing, and he knows there’s no way he can stay away from her. Not anymore.

He wishes he could call her, but he can’t. He feels like he’s taken so much from her life and also she’s such an accommodating person that if he called her she would say “of course, Frank, come on over” even if she didn’t really want him there. He wants to be there with her, but he cares too much about her to be selfish and get what he wants without considering if it’s what she wants.

Quickly, he decides what to do. He goes to the nearest open grocery store and buys a dozen white roses. White roses, meaning pure. Karen, meaning pure. He’s not sure if she would agree with that meaning due to some hints she’s given about her past, but compared to him, Karen is as spotless and blameless as a baby lamb.

He asks the cashier for a spare piece of paper and a pen and hastily scrawls a note on it. “Karen. I’d like to see you, but I don’t know if you have plans or are in the mood to see anyone right now. If it’s okay for me to stop by, you know what to do with these.” He doesn’t sign it. She’ll know who they’re from.

He walks the now-familiar route to her apartment, places the flowers outside her door, and walks away as quickly as he can. Not expecting much, he crosses the street to another building and climbs to the roof, settling into his old sniper spot, the place where he’s kept an eye on her all this time. When he peers through the scope of his rifle to Karen’s apartment, to his shock, the flowers are already there, on her windowsill.

He grins, the first time he’s smiled since he can remember as he quickly packs up his rifle and heads back over to her apartment. Climbing the stairs for the second time this hour, anticipation lightens his heart. Roughly, he knocks on the door. He waits a moment, then says, “Karen, it’s me. You don’t need your weapon.”

Karen opens the door with a sheepish look on her face. She tucks the gun into the waistband of her sweatpants. “You can never be sure in this city. They were just saying on the news that a CIA agent named William Rawlins was brutally murdered and his killer is still at large.”

Frank misses the twinkle in her eye. “I had to, Karen. He killed my family. I had to.” His voice raises several levels in volume and Karen can hear the fervor with which he says it. It’s the same fervor she heard when he told her, by the river, that he couldn’t let the same thing happen to her.

“I know, Frank, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Here, come on in.” She takes a step back and opens the door wider to allow him and his huge artillery bag to fit through. He walks in and dumps his bag on the floor feeling awkward in Karen’s apartment. There’s so much her everywhere. He looks around. Worn copies of the Anne of Green Gables series lie on her bookshelf. On the stove, he can see a couple pots. The delicious smell of spaghetti sauce fills the air. Through the French doors leading to her bedroom, he can see that her bed is unmade, her work clothes on the floor, neglected since yesterday, when she threw them off as soon as she got home. When he looks back at Karen, she’s pouring red wine into two glasses. After she offers one to him and he accepts, she studies him.

He has a gash on the side of his head that’s healing, but still looks nasty. His breathing is a bit labored. Both his eyes are bruised. She wonders if this look, this perpetual state of injury, will ever end.

“Frank, is there something I don’t know about Rawlins? You look like you’ve taken a hit, which means since it’s you, you were probably hurt pretty badly. When are you going to take care of yourself?”

Frank just shrugs.

Karen knows that this means that he was, in fact, hurt pretty badly. She grows frustrated with him for continuously putting himself in these situations.

“Dammit, Frank, you could’ve died! You could’ve died and left me too!”

“Red died and you seem to be doing okay,” Frank mutters under his breath. He’s jealous of the blind crusader because he has Karen’s affection. Unfortunately, she hears him.

“Of course I’m not doing okay! One of the only friends I have in the world is dead! I’m trying to put on a brave face, to move through the stages of grief, but inside, I feel like I have no one to turn to besides you! And if you left me too, I don’t know what I’d do!” By this point, her voice has risen an octave and she’s practically crying.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” she repeats softly, as tears flood her eyes.

“Frank,” she begins as she wipes her eyes and steadies her voice, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I’ve been feeling so alone lately without Matt and Foggy’s so occupied with Marci and work he doesn’t realize all that I’ve been going through. It’s made me feel better—and safe, just knowing you’re out there. I’m glad you sent the flowers. I was afraid—” she breaks off again. “I was afraid that the elevator was going to be the last time I saw you alive.”

Hesitantly, she looks into his eyes. In them, she can see a multitude of emotions, some she can read, some that make her shiver.

Frank sets down the wine glass and says tenderly, with purpose, his voice low and deep, “Karen, I’ll never leave you.”

He hesitantly opens his arms and she falls into them, fitting as perfectly in them in this moment as she did in the moment after Lewis blew himself up and Frank had to pretend to hold her hostage, her back flush against him, to get away from the SWAT team. While her heart thrilled in that instant, there was too much anxiousness surrounding them that she couldn’t focus on the feeling. Now, they have all the time in the world, and she lingers, fully appreciating the fluttering in her stomach, the quickening of her heartbeat. She’s still nervous, though, about this thing, this feeling, between them, and after a minute, she awkwardly pulls away.

Frank senses the newfound tension between them and breaks it by asking, “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh, shit! My water is boiling!” Karen darts over to the stove, opens a box of spaghetti and dumps it unceremoniously into the pot. She takes the lid off the smaller saucepan, stirs the contents, blows on the spoon, and tastes the sauce. Nodding at herself, she again covers the pot, and turns around.

“So,” Frank begins with a half-smile on his face, “Spaghetti on Thanksgiving?”

Karen flushes slightly before she answers. “My grandma was Italian growing up, and she’d always make us spaghetti for special occasions. Usually Christmas and when someone requested it for their birthday. She was born in Italy, so it’s the real deal. It’s a day long process to make it, so when I’m up for it, I make a huge pot and freeze the sauce to defrost later when I want a little taste of home.”

Frank’s eyes soften as he hears this story. He realizes he doesn’t know much about Karen since she’s so private about her personal life, so he relishes this moment of revelation. He listens as she continues.

“I know it’s weird to have spaghetti on Thanksgiving, but I didn’t feel like doing a lot of cooking, and I could use the comfort it brings me.”

“No, it’s great!” Frank is quick to add. He can’t help but think of Maria and how making spaghetti was a big part of her family’s traditions too. He’s always considered himself a spaghetti snob since first tasting her sauce, but after smelling Karen’s apartment, he thinks that she could give Maria a run for her money in this regard, among others.

He resumes his thought in a teasing voice.

“I’m learning so much about you. You don’t like conforming to the traditional food eaten on holidays. You actually own sweatpants and t-shirts. What’s next, a hidden child I’ve never heard of?”

Karen giggles and with that, it’s like they’re old friends. They chat amicably as the pasta cooks and Karen pours them a second, then a third glass of wine. During dinner, Frank laughs more than he had since Maria, Lisa, and Frankie died.

After their meal, he helps her clean up the kitchen and dishes. They sit in Karen’s living room and pour the dregs of the wine bottle into their glasses. For a while, they just sit, enjoying each other’s company.

It’s nearing the end of the night. They can both sense what’s about to happen. Frank, trying to be the polite gentleman, thanks Karen for the wine and the food and begins to make his way to the door.

“Frank…” He turns, hopeful.

“Please, stay.” He does.

Frank falls asleep on the couch. He doesn’t want to push any boundaries. He wakes up in Karen’s bed. She’s tucked into him, their bodies gently curved together. He smiles and closes his eyes, then falls back asleep.

When Karen wakes up, she smiles too.


End file.
